


Help!

by kathkin



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 22:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3827086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Polly finds the Doctor's record collection and introduces Jamie to The Beatles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help!

Polly managed about half an hour of dutiful, diligent searching before she snapped. “This is ridiculous,” she exclaimed, throwing the book she’d been holding back on the shelf. A cloud of dust rose up. “We’re never going to find it in all this mess.”

“Don’t fret,” said Jamie, who was relentlessly upbeat about the task at hand, especially considering he could barely read and was looking for a book that was ‘blue, or maybe purple, with a picture of a helix on the dust-jacket, if it still has a dust-jacket’. 

“We could search for months and never find it,” said Polly. “Who has a library this huge and doesn’t keep it organised?”

“The Doctor?” Jamie suggested.

Polly hmphed to herself and took up another book. It was some sort of beastiary, full of pictures of sea creatures who lived on an ocean planet in the Andromeda galaxy. The book she’d thrown down so angrily had been a Venusian dictionary. The next book along was a copy of _The Picture of Dorian Grey_ – signed, she saw when she opened it, by the author.

At the very least, he ought to keep track of his instruction manuals. They were looking for the instructions for a – what was it – ‘stasis loop field generator’, which the Doctor needed to get working sharpish. Hopefully not _too_ sharpish, because unless they got very lucky they were going to be here all day. “We’ll be here all day,” she said miserably, replacing _Dorian Grey_ and pulling out an ancient copy of the holy scriptures of – she squinted at the cover – Betelguese.

“It’s got to be here somewhere,” said Jamie. “Hey, is this it?” 

Polly peered at the book he was holding, which was blue and hard-bound. “No. That’s the collected works of Janue Austen,” she said. Jamie slotted it back onto the shelf. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if he just kept his library in order.”

“We wouldnae be in this mess at all if it wasnae for those bug-beasties,” he said. There was a swish of cardboard. “What sort of a book’s this?”

“Hmm?” Polly glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, that’s not a book. That’s a record.”

“A record?” said Jamie, puzzled.

“You know,” said Polly. “A record. It has music on it.” Jamie was turning it about in his hands. He found his way into the cardboard sleeve and half-tugged out the disc. “Careful. They’re a bit fragile.”

“I dinnae understand,” Jamie said. “What’d you mean, it’s got music on it?”

“They sort of,” said Polly, tugging out and rejecting another book, “store music. You must have heard recorded music.” Jamie looked mystified. It occurred to her that even if he had, he might not have known what he was hearing. “The grooves in the record have sort of – engravings in them, and when you put it in a record player, there’s this needle that goes in the groove, and –” She stopped dead. Jamie had slid the record back into place and pulled out another one, and when she saw the cover her heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be.

She darted across the aisle and snatched the record out of Jamie’s hands. “Hey, I was –”

It _was_. She stared at the cover, faded but familiar. “I don’t believe it.” She wiped the dust away with her sleeve. 

“What is it?” said Jamie.

“It’s just,” said Polly. “It’s The Beatles. _Help_. My friend Angela, this was her favourite album. She used to play it every time I was round at her flat. We’d have to shout at her to put something else on.” She let out a breathless giggle. She couldn’t put her feelings into words. It was like she’d stumbled on a tiny piece of home, a solid, touchable piece that she could hold in her hands. Her eyes were misting over. She blinked away her tears.

“The beetles?” said Jamie.

“Oh, they’re a band,” said Polly. “Musicians. They’re –” She trailed off. How could she even begin to explain The Beatles to Jamie?

Well, she could play him the album, for one. She wanted desperately to play the album. Which was funny, because there’d been so many afternoons and evenings when she’d wanted so desperately to listen to something else – anything else. But on a day like today an album she knew front-to-back sounded like the most perfect thing in the world. “We’ve _got_ to listen to this,” she said. “He must have a record player, mustn’t he? If he has records. It’s funny, I’d have thought he’d go in for something more high tech.”

She had a feeling she’d lost Jamie somewhere around ‘record player’, but he must have got the gist of what she was saying. He shook his head. “Now, see here,” he said. “We’re supposed to be looking for the Doctor’s book.”

“Oh, that can wait.” Polly brushed her fingers over the figures on the album cover. “Besides, he probably doesn’t even need it. We’ll get back and he’ll have got that silly machine of his working all by himself. You know how he is.” Jamie did not look convinced. “Oh, look,” said Polly, “would you rather spend your afternoon raking through all these dusty old books, or finding out how a record player works?”

Jamie considered, pursing his lips. He shot a look over his shoulder, as if the Doctor might be lurking somewhere, watching them. He said, “aye. Alright, then.”

“Right,” said Polly. “Come on, then.” She took him by the elbow and dragged him down the aisle.

There must be a record player somewhere nearby, she reasoned. It was only logical. She was so excited that it didn’t occur to her that there was no logic at all to the Doctor’s way of storing his possessions. Fortunately she was right; they didn’t have to go far before she spied it, half buried beneath the clutter atop a table. She set about clearing away the junk while Jamie drew up a chair. “How does this work, then?” he said.

“I’ll show you,” Polly replied confidently, though in truth the controls were a touch beyond her. A little after her time, she supposed. But the basic workings were familiar. She set the record on the turntable, put the needle in position, and fumbled until she found the on switch.

The familiar, wonderful strains of _Help!_ filled the room, echoing about the dusty library – and if there was any doubt left in her mind about abandoning their search, it was washed away by the look of pure delight upon Jamie’s face. He draped himself across the table, bringing his face as close to the record player as he could manage. “That’s,” he said. “That’s _wonderful_. How does it work?”

“Well,” said Polly, dredging her memory, “sound is a sort of vibration – sort of like a wave – and the grooves in the record are sort of shaped like the sound, deeper and shallower where it’s louder and softer, you know –”

Jamie was looking at her blankly. “Ach, you lost me.”

“I’m not the best at explaining things,” Polly confessed.

“It’s alright,” said Jamie. “I don’t really care.” He turned his attention back to the record, watching it spin intently on its turntable. “I like _this_. It’s so – I dinnae ken what the word is.” He thought for a moment. “It’s so bouncy.”

“Bouncy?” said Polly. Though when she gave it some thought, it wasn’t that bad a description.

“Aye, it’s –” The next song started up, distracting him. “How much is there?”

“Seven songs a side,” said Polly. She could reel off the titles if he wanted. 

“And this is what people listen to, where you’re from?” said Jamie.

“Oh, yes,” said Polly. “Angela, she never seemed to listen to anything else. The Beatles are _huge_. Everyone knows them.” She picked up the sleeve. “Look, that’s John – he was Angela’s favourite – George, Paul and Ringo.”

“Oh, aye,” said Jamie. He seemed more interested in the music than anything Polly had to say about it, but now that she’d started she couldn’t stop.

She was still babbling away when they got to the end of side A. “She was more the stay-home sort, you see – we’d sit around her flat and she’d put on this album over and over until we shouted at her.” She was drifting back and forth around the table. She couldn’t seem to stay still. She felt slightly dazed – not homesick, exactly, just filled with bittersweet nostalgia. “Then she’d just put on another one of their albums, or their singles. She had all of them. We went to see them in concert once. Couldn’t hear a note of it for all the girls screaming.”

“Oh, aye?” Jamie said. He perked up a little. She had a sense he was about to ask a question, but just then _Ticket to Ride_ ended and the album wound down. His shoulders slumped. “Oh. Make it go again?”

“There’s more on the other side,” said Polly. She slid the record out and flipped it over. “Me and Angela used to work in the same typing pool,” she said. “That’s how we met.” She played the b-side and immediately lost Jamie’s attention. He was watching the record spin, enraptured.

They were halfway throught _Yesterday_ , and Polly had just finished telling him all about the last time she’d seen Angela, and then, to make that story make sense, all about Carnaby Street when she found she was exhausted. She joined Jamie in his silent contemplation of the music. “It’s a pretty song,” he said.

“Yes,” said Polly. “This one used to be my favourite.” She’d been trying not to listen to hard, in case she teared up again. “I wonder if any of them miss me,” she mused aloud. Jamie looked at her, confused. “My friends at home, I mean.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” he said.

“I don’t know,” said Polly. “Sometimes I hope they don’t. I don’t like to think about people worrying on my account.”

Jamie considered that. He said, “oh aye, well –”

“So this is where you’ve been, is it?” the Doctor’s voice rang out. They both started. “I wondered what was taking you so long. _Honestly_.”

“Well, how did you expect us to find anything in this mess?” said Polly, indicating the chaos of his library.

“I do have a system, you know,” said the Doctor.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Polly muttered.

“And it _was_ urgent,” said the Doctor. “I’d have expected you to take the task at hand a _little_ more seriously.” He took up the album cover and scrutinised it. 

“Sorry,” said Jamie, truly bashful.

“Hmm?” said the Doctor. “Oh, no harm done. I _was_ coming to tell you that you can stop looking. I got it working.” He smiled at them brightly.

Polly nudged Jamie across the table. “See? What did I tell you?”

“The Beatles?” said the Doctor as if he’d only just realised what he was hearing. “Feeling homesick, Polly?”

“Maybe a little,” she admitted.

The record wound down. Jamie leaned across the table and eased the needle out – preparing, she supposed, to take it out and play it again. He’d picked it up quickly.

“Hang on a moment,” said the Doctor. He nipped away up an aisle and came back with an armful of records. “Here you are, Polly. I think some of these are a little, ah, after your time.”

“That seems like cheating,” said Polly, though she snatched up the albums.

“Och,” said Jamie. “It’s all after my time.” He rifled through the albums the Doctor had brought till he found one with cover art he liked and slid out the record.

“Precisely,” said the Doctor. “Do have fun. I shall be in the control room, if you need me.”

Polly watched his retreating back. “I think we’ve been given the afternoon off,” she said.

“I’m nae complaining,” said Jamie, fumbling the needle into place. “How do I switch this thing on?”


End file.
